


SPECIAL

by Gozer



Category: Forever Knight
Genre: Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-19
Updated: 2014-07-19
Packaged: 2018-02-09 12:12:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1982556
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gozer/pseuds/Gozer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This is for you guys, you know who you are, just 'cos you are so special!</p>
            </blockquote>





	SPECIAL

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted to "FKFIC-L" (FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU) , the Forever Knight fiction list in March of 1996. 
> 
> A bit of history you need to understand this: back in the 90s, there were two separate Forever Knight fan lists that you could join and post to and read: FKFIC-L was strictly a list for posting fan fiction (just fan fiction!) and FORKNI-L was the list for any and all Forever Knight-related conversations, not just about the show itself, but also including story-related questions and comments on stories. 
> 
> Simple, no?

**SPECIAL**

**by Cousine Celeste**

 

***PING***

LaCroix' supernaturally fine-tuned hearing picked up the sound of his laptop's e-mail notification system alerting him that a post had dropped, even through the sound-proofing that lined the walls of the broadcast booth.  He smiled a feral smile his listeners would never see (or _want_ to see, actually) and continued, without missing a beat:

"...and so we are told that each and every one of us is _special_.  There is no one exactly like _you_ , your mother said whilst placing her sweet maternal kisses upon your forehead.  Each man's soul stands apart from every other in the eyes of God, bellowed your local religious representative from the sanctity of his pulpit.  Then you grew older and wondered where your Other, your perfect soulmate, was, out there, waiting for you—surely you were his or her Only One as he or she was yours?  Is that not what all the popular songs claim?

"Your friend, the Nightcrawler, is here to put your worries to rest.  Hear me and accept the serenity that comes only with being a member of the madding crowd. There is no 'one in a million'. There _is_ 'safety in numbers'.  And you _are_ a number, each and every one of you, my children, and only as a number will you ever find true freedom.

"For should any one of you come to believe in, for even a single moment, the foolishness of sacred individuality; the World is ready, willing and able to put you back in your place, back upon the shelf with all the other tin soldiers standing at attention."

LaCroix could have gone on in this general vein for another five minutes with ease, but he could see the little flashing green light beckoning him from his laptop's screen where it sat open, a technological clam shell, on the desk in his small office.  He'd been waiting with great anticipation for the next installment of 'Just Say Ah!' to drop; part 18 of 30, in fact.  Dr. Epstone, who had been dubbed 'The Demented Driller' by an unsympathetic yellow press during his trial for the murder of twenty-seven of his patients, was easily one of the finest writers on the mass-murderer fiction list (MMFic-L).  Part 17 of his magnum opus had left Dr. Epstone's readers contemplating the vagaries of fate (as well as how to dispose of three gallons of blood, four arms, and an odd number of jawbones when the police are watching your house), and he had _just_ caught sight of his next victim at chapter's end—an obnoxious punk with green teeth who _refused_ to learn how to floss.  Part 18 looked to be a real corker.

"Think on that a while, my troupe, my covey, my flock, my most cherished swarm of listeners.  The Nightcrawler shall elucidate anon. But first...."

LaCroix pushed a toggle, starting the CD his audience would be stuck listening to for the next half-hour or so—the Moody Blues "Days of Future Past", a musical consideration of a 24-hour span in the life of Everyman—and bounded from his chair, immediately making for his office.  A quick "Shift/Command/Q", and QuickMail software claimed his laptop, throwing a list of recent messages onto the softly-glowing screen.

And at the top of the screen popped the following heading:

_RE: Just Say Ah (17/30)_ _JollyJumper@jolliet.inst_ _3/14/96_

"DAMN!"  LaCroix's fist made contact with his desk with enough force to send the little laptop bouncing into the air.  It came down with a clatter, but the screen still glowed a steady green, thank goodness.  LaCroix put his head in his hands and growled in frustration.

Would these fools never learn?  What the hell would it be _this_ time?  "Gosh, golly, this is a cool chapter, kudos to Doc Epstone!" or "I was in solitary confinement for stabbing my roommate, I missed Parts 5 through 16—would someone be a lamb-kin and post them to me?"  Or would it be the ever-popular, "I know I'm not supposed to post this here, but if you would all indulge me just this once?" 

Ah, but it was never 'just this once' with these people, was it?  Someone would chime in with a "Me, too!  Me, too!  I need those chapters, too!"  Then the inevitable flurry of "I hope your roomie pulls through" messages would _*ping*_ , calling him to his e-mail every five minutes.  Or there'd be an unrelated comment from some dim-witted, in-bred serial killer in the hinterlands about how much he appreciated the Mass Murderer lists, how they'd changed his life—all in lowercase and without punctuation, of course.  But it almost never seemed to be _fiction_ , which was what LaCroix had set up this particular list _for_.  It was enough to make an eternally-damned-and-he-hadn't-even-felt-all-that-eternally-damned-until-just-now listowner cry.

...because of all of these, JollyJumper was the worst.

A double-click later, and LaCroix was reading Jolly's post.

 

_Hi, all!_

_I know I'm not supposed to post this here, and I am apologizing up front for this, but I need some help!  I'm literally at the end of my rope here, if you will pardon the joke!_

_I'm writing a short story about how difficult it is to live a normal, everyday life without all the little things they take from the more suicidal of us—shoelaces, ordinary kitchen knives, ball-point pens—and I'm running out of things to write about.  What particular thing are you guys most annoyed about not having access to?  You don't have to be suicidal to comment.  Also, don't bother posting "women"—this isn't for the MMXFic list.  I'm in the bible belt here!_ ;-)

_Also, if you have any clever uses for Velcro, send that on, too!_

_Thanks, from your good buddy_  
 _Jolly_  
 _jollyjumper@jolliet.inst_

 

Oh, gods, not this one again.  Jolly was _always_ 'jolly', even if that jollity covered an angst-ridden, suicidal psyche; he was always polite and well-meaning, if a bit self-depreciating; and he was _always_ posting non-fiction posts to the fiction list.  And LaCroix was always warning him to stop, and Jolly was always being so nice about it, and always promising he'd never, ever do it again, good buddy... but a couple of weeks later, without fail, he'd be posting non-fic to the fiction list _again!_ LaCroix sat back, reigning in his annoyance as only two-thousand years of civilization can teach you to do, and composed the following:

 

_My dear young friend, Jolly:_

_I know from previous posts that you are in a delicate state of mind at the moment due to government cut-backs in psychiatric care for life-termers, and I pray you, please do not take this the wrong way—but you have once again posted a non-fiction post to MMFic-L.  Your post would better have been sent on to the MMChat-L list.  There and only there may you post queries for information or general comments—unless an obligatory fiction submission accompanies your query or comment._

_Regards, and a hope for your swift transfer to that private psychiatric unit I'd heard you had applied to:_  
 _Rosebud_

 

LaCroix sighed, not really angry anymore.  He wondered again why it was he was apparently unable to simply no-mail this one and be done with it.  Was it the few-and-far-between, but always witty, short stories, laced with wicked black humor and some fairly shrewd observations on life and death?  Was it the youth's cheerful angst?  Whatever it was, LaCroix found himself oddly attracted to him, despite the fact that he drove the master vampire crazy on a fairly regular basis.

He posted the e-mail message with a jab of the return key.

Why, oh, why did _every_ sociopathic killer seem to think that _he_ was so special, that the rules didn't apply to _him?_   LaCroix supposed it must just be the nature of the beast.

 

*******

 

Nick sat at the corner of Natalie's desk in her office, chortling quietly as he read the message on her computer screen. Then he called up a return e-mail form and began to type an answer.

The coroner looked up from her paperwork, observing to herself that the 700+ year-old vampire looked more like a mischievous14 year old boy than most mischievous-14-year-old boys did .  "Oh, Nick, you didn't, did you?" she asked, tilting the monitor so she could read the screen.  He had.  She shook her head sadly.  As she'd suspected, it was another message to 'Rosebud', and she knew darned well who Rosebud was.  Almost 800 years old and he couldn't find a better way to amuse himself than harassing LaCroix.  "For heaven's sake, Nick, I asked you to stop sending messages to him from my computer.  He's going to figure it out and come after _me_ , you know!  And I'm going to tell him, so help me, that it's _you_ annoying him, that it isn't my fault!"

"Oh, Nat, don't worry," Nick said without taking his eyes from the screen.  "The software I had Screed install on your harddrive enables me to bounce my messages from another location—he thinks I'm a suicidal mass-murderer from Jolliet Penitentiary!"  This seemed to overjoy Nick no end.  In fact, she'd never seen him so gleeful... at least, not since the Lidoveuterine incident.

"Hmmph!" she sniffed.  "I wouldn't be a bit surprised if that software your weird little friend installed is what keeps _trashing_ my harddrive.  It spends more time off my desk than on it and the IT guys are starting to hate me.  And when it's working, I can't even _get_ to it half the time."  She raised one eyebrow at him.

Nick looked up, glee gone, contrition on his face.  "You know I'd put the software on my laptop, but half the time Tracy's grabbing it off the back seat and typing up reports with it in the car, and I don't want her to trip over anything, uh, incriminating. She seems to think 'snoopy' is part of the job description of being a cop."

As usual, that look made the coroner relent, hating herself even as she did so.  "Oh, all right, all right—so, what are you posting?  Let me see what he wrote."  Consoling herself that this was just another way for her to look into the fascinating mind that was Lucien LaCroix's, and that anything she learned about him was another weapon she could use against him in future, she punched up his last message and began reading it.  And began giggling.  She couldn't believe he was being so darned _nice_. She almost felt guilty.

The two heads huddled cheek-by-cheek over the keyboard, one blond, one curly brunette; and together they began to compose a convincingly remorseful reply to Rosebud's message.

"You know... I think we sort of _have_ to post the reply to MMFic-L, don't you?  I mean, it _is_ fiction, isn't it? " the coroner murmured, sending them both into gales of evil laughter.

**The End**

**Author's Note:**

> Everything Jolly Jumper does in this story, every annoying question or comment posted that LaCroix, as listowner, complains about, one or more of my fellow FK fans cluelessly posted to FKFIC-L over time. The listowners started out correcting them, but after a while their corrections just tapered off. It seemed pointless as no one was taking them seriously. And as insulting as you might think this story would be to those "clewless" people, it was well-received when I posted it to FKFIC-L; everyone said it was hilarious and apt and no one got upset. The thing is, everybody assumed I was talking about someone else, and they all continued to post things that were not fiction to the fiction list.
> 
> ::headdesk::


End file.
